


What are you doing the rest of your life

by NaroMoreau



Category: Far Cry 5
Genre: Angst, F/M, Goodbyes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-04
Updated: 2019-06-04
Packaged: 2020-04-08 00:08:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,208
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19095748
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NaroMoreau/pseuds/NaroMoreau
Summary: Saying goodbye is not easy.





	What are you doing the rest of your life

Rook has ill placed hopes when it comes to what to expect of a relationship with John Seed. That's what Addie has told her million and one times since this whole thing began, and she trusts her judgment more than she trusts her own. Because it's not so much a relationship but a dramatic sway that effectively goes from hard fucks to soft aftermaths when she feels him teeming with feelings about to burst, before his hackles go up. Shut tight, just like now. And those unsaid words chaff her.

Rook feels constrained amidst silken sheets and warmth sharp with the scent of cedar and mint -  _ him _ -, one of his hands claiming her closeness around her waist. The ceiling timber frame seems too close, too heavy, and she swats his hand away, sitting ramrod straight in an attempt to kick back the feeling of being buried alive.

“What’s wrong?”

His heavy breathing reaches her under the soft thrumming of her heart and she can hear his perplexed little frown mounting on his words. The almost tense touch of a rough hand on her skin.

“Nothing,” she lies.

They’ve been together long enough to know his silences as they waft around her, and she knows John has forced too many confessions to believe her.

“Would you like something to drink, my dear?” An honest to god offering, that feels like an amateur dodge because Rook isn’t an idiot.

“I’m cool, thanks.”

She refuses to look back, afraid that if she does all her resolve will go away and she'll sink in gold washed memories that'll seem like enough.

_ No.   _

She pushes herself to her feet, picking up her rumpled clothes from where he tossed them unceremoniously less than two hours ago. She's tired to live in the edge of maybe, always lingering in the eve of  _ realization,  _ that moment when he'll finally voice and address the white elephant cracking the china around them.

“Are you--  _ leaving _ ?” The word rolls of his mouth, sharper than the blade of his knife.

“Yeah.”

The springs creak when he finally sits. “Why?” John snaps.

The usual tinge of frustration seeps from his voice, clear telltale of things not going the way he wants. Like a child. Rook has always thought it's a bit endearing, but the contradiction when the swirl of violent energy that is also  _ John _ strikes, always weights more.

“‘Cause I have things to do.”

“More pressing issues than staying with  _ me _ ?”

“Yep.”

John gruffs at her back. “You can’t leave, Rook. Your place is at  _ my _ side, as Joseph foresaw it-  it’s meant to be,  _ we  _ are meant to be,” he stresses, as if somehow he’d finally convince her all this shunless-destiny chatter will be good enough of a substitute for what he’s holding back.

She finishes dressing herself, admiring his handiwork on a tear at the hem of her shirt, and turns with her chin kicked up just the smallest amount. “Yeah, I don’t think so, ‘cause I don’t think your big bro knows we’re actively fucking each other as wild racoons whenever I’m around right?”

He rakes his fingers through his hair in untamed frustration, and she watches as it falls over his forehead in untidy tufts.

“You know I can bring you back whenever I want, just one bliss bullet--”

“Ah, c’mon John, that’s really how you wanna play it?”

It’s a conversation that will go nowhere. He’ll spew a few more empty words, something about whom Rook belongs to -  _ as if _ \- finishing with “ _ oh, surprise, me! _ ”. But instead he opens his eyes wide and clasps at handfuls of blue sheets, before dipping his head. If Rook wasn't beyond done, that simple gesture would've tackled her wounded ego; as it is, her knees buck under her own weight.

“You always stay until I fall asleep," he mutters under a sigh.

“It never takes you long, half hour tops," she quips, because that's easier than considering his veiled intent. After so long, she wants something clear, he's too good with words to not grant her at least that.

“It’s not--” John says.

“What?”

Too-expressive blue eyes flicker against the brittle backdrop of the entirety of him, saying everything his mouth still can't and for a second she feels compelled to drop on the bed and  _ stay _ .

“I sleep better if you’re around," he stutters, squinching his eyes close.

Despite knowing there’s a whole package to unwrap behind his statement, she decides to ignore it. Always him, always what he wants, as if he was still a two year old and the world spun around his deranged head. Her blood boils and Rook snaps. “Yeah? Well, I’m tired of being your human sized teddy bear and like I said I have things to do.” She grabs her backpack, throwing it over her shoulder. “Go browse some website an order a pillow or something, you have the money to afford it.”

“You damn well know it’s not like that-- God, you’re infuriating!” John growls, pure wrath finally flowing through his cracks.

“ _ I _ am infuriating?” Rook grunts, crossing her arms over her chest, watching him finally raising from the bed and putting his satin blue robe on. “I’m not the one who’s filmed long ass infomercials but sucks at talking when it actually matters, always tripping over its own fucking tongue.”

The chance pulses in the air, but John only looks at her, and Rook sees the struggle drawn in every line of his face. Five long seconds elapse while she hefts his silence and swallows.

She manages to speak with a soft voice. “Listen John, this has to stop, sooner or later someone is going to realize what’s going on and--”

“You don’t want them to know you’re with me?”  

The fact that he just kicked the more pressing issue to the curb, switching the guilt on her, makes anger curl in her stomach.

“That I’m fucking you?” She smirks. “Nah, I don’t want Joseph to order you to carve ‘lust’ on me, I’m not a fan of pain if you haven’t noticed.”

He blanches. “Is that all this is to you?”

“Isn’t it?”

“I’d give you everything, Rook,” he says holding her by the shoulders, and she can’t help but close her eyes, reveling in the soft pitch of his words, “you’d be the one marching at my side through the Gates, as my-”

“Yeah, I know the whole speech,” she sighs, snapping from her daydream, “because of the Project and because it’s what Joe says- but that’s not what I want- to be with you because someone behooved you to it, under the demented hallmark of a cult.”

“It’s not a cult,” he says automatically.

“Whatever,” she shrugs. His grip on her shoulders relaxes, arms falling at his sides. “I know you could order a few peggies to tackle me on my way out and take me to your bunker, so could you please not? Take care John.”

She turns, brushing aside the yawning chasm at the pit of her stomach.

“Rook, wait!”

He reaches for her hand, and she sifts his face, waiting.

“I--”

A cold breeze seems to take away whatever resolution he’d taken.

Rook sighs when he lets her go. “Yeah, that’s what I thought.”

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



End file.
